


Happy Birthday to Bilbo & Frodo:  An Onlist Challenge

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Stewards, General
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2003-09-19
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:31:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3744286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, the 22nd of September is coming up. We know what that means, right?  Bilbo's and Frodo's birthdays!  In honor of the event and in hobbit fashion, the members have written the following short but multi-faceted nuzgulings that had four options.</p><p>Option 1 : One of the items in the "Nuzgûl Hutch" for "Bilbo's Birthday".</p><p>Option 2:  The reactions of those receiving gifts from Bilbo (so those<br/>who got specific items from Bag End, for example, or hobbit kids who got toys from Dale, etc.).</p><p>Option 3:  Something about the Hundred Weight feast, focusing on Frodo and his guests. </p><p>Option 4:   The impact of either of these parties on the locals (buried post office, Dwarves finding themselves in the middle of a hobbit shindig, etc.)</p><p>Titles serve as chapter headings & authors' names can be found at the end of each vignette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bubbles

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Little Pippin Took craned his head, anxious to see everything and everyone at the party. He had been to many parties in his twelve years of life, for the hobbits of the Shire loved nothing so much as a good party, and that was particularly true of his family. But not even the grandest occasion that the Tooks had staged could compare to this, Bilbo Baggins’ eleventy-first birthday party. There were wonders no matter where he turned his eyes, things that he had never seen before, and he was sure he never would see again. So he kept twisting round to absorb as much as he could.

Off in one corner of the Party Field, helping to cook the huge quantities of food the hobbits were consuming with gusto, were dwarves, real live dwarves from far away with long beards and pointed hats. They looked exactly the way Bilbo had described them when telling stories about his adventures. Pippin’s respect for old Cousin Bilbo was rapidly increasing as he watched the dwarves talking amongst themselves in their strange-sounding language.

There were also stacks and stacks of presents for the guests at the party, all colorfully and carefully wrapped and decorated. Pippin leaned over to Merry, sure his older Brandybuck cousin would know the truth regarding what was in those boxes.

“Merry,” he whispered, “Vinca told me that there are toys for us, toys that came all the way from Dale with the dwarves. Is that really true?”

“I’m not sure, Pip, but it probably is. Frodo told me a while ago that the dwarves came with lots of packages. You’ll just have to see what you get.”

Esmeralda Brandybuck overheard her son’s last comment and nodded her head at Bilbo. “And you will find out soon, Pippin dear—Bilbo, Frodo and Gandalf are beginning to pass out the presents.” Pippin felt his eyes widen, for as impressive as the dwarves were, Gandalf was positively awe-inspiring. He dimly remembered meeting the wizard once or twice when he was younger, but now Gandalf seemed far taller and more imposing to Pippin; he was nothing like Pippin’s memory of a friendly old man in gray. He hoped suddenly that he would be lucky and get a box full of Gandalf’s best fireworks.

Bilbo started at the near end of the table, handing his contemporaries like Dora Baggins, Lilac Took, and Rory Brandybuck their presents first. At the other end, Pippin bounced up and down, desperate to see the packages Bilbo was distributing. He managed to hit both Pearl and Pimpernel with his elbows, earning himself angry glares from his sisters. His mother fixed him with a stern look and muttered, “Peregrin Took! Do stop it! You’ll fly right off the bench at this rate!”

Paladin glanced at his son and gave him a tolerant smile. “Oh, come now, Tina, it’s understandable the lad’s excited—you know what splendid presents Bilbo always gives. Let him have a little fun.”

Eglantine subsided, but not before giving Pippin another look. Merry put a kindly hand on Pippin’s shoulder. “Here comes Bilbo, Pip. Now you’ll know!”

Bilbo reached the Tooks and Brandybucks with a beaming smile, followed close behind by Gandalf and Frodo with their arms full of boxes. Bilbo embraced Esmeralda and Eglantine, shook hands with Saradoc and Paladin, and kissed Pearl on the cheek. “Well, now,” he said expansively, “I daresay all of you realize how much you are my favorite relations, since Gandalf and Frodo are helping me give out your presents!”

“We are honoured, indeed,” Paladin said quickly, climbing to his feet and bowing to the wizard, for his father had taught him to respect Gandalf since he was a child. But Pippin, forgetting his previous fear, looked up and blurted, “What have you got for me?”

Gandalf burst into hearty laughter. “A true Took indeed—forthright and to the point! But I am afraid, Master Peregrin, that I do not have your present.”

Frodo pulled out a package from his stack. “Here it is. Go ahead and open it, Pippin-lad.”

Pippin snatched the box and shook it, and then began ripping the brightly colored paper and ribbons off. He was faintly aware of the exclamations from the rest of his family as they received their presents, but then he concentrated on the large object he pulled out of the box. _Not fireworks_ , he thought in disappointment, holding the polished wooden toy up, not recognizing the gems that formed its eyes. “What is it?” he said in puzzlement. “A fish?”

Gandalf chuckled. “No, Peregrin, it is called a dolphin, and this one is very special. Let me show you.” He laid down the other things he was carrying and took the dolphin from a stunned Pippin, who could not believe that Gandalf of all people was teaching him how to play with his toy. The wizard reached into the box and lifted out a crystal flask. He then flipped open a hidden lid on the top of the dolphin and poured a clear and fragrant fluid into it from the flask.

“See this handle, Peregrin?” Gandalf said kindly, setting the dolphin in front of Pippin and turning one side towards him. “Crank this around and around, and you will get a very nice surprise.” Everyone else stopped to observe.

A doubtful Pippin did as he was told. No sooner had he begun than bubbles surged from the dolphin’s open mouth, huge, beautiful, rainbow-colored bubbles that smelled like every kind of flower in the Shire’s gardens and beyond. He could not sort out all the smells—there were roses and lilies and carnations and many others. As more and more bubbles streamed into the air, he clapped his hands. “Look, look! I can take it into my bath with me, can’t I? I’ll never run out of bubbles now!”

Bilbo hugged him affectionately. “Exactly! Your mother told me how much you like your baths, so I thought this would be just the thing. Glad you like it, my boy.”

Frodo reached out and popped a large violet-scented bubble floating over Pearl’s head; she giggled as the perfumed drops fell into her hair. “These are lovely, Pip! Can I borrow it for my bath?”

Pippin shook his head vigorously. “No, Pearl! Get your own!” Everyone laughed, especially Pearl and Frodo. Merry cranked the handle again and produced a fresh flood of bubbles.

“There you go, Pippin, lots to pop if you want.” But Pippin watched the bubbles float skyward, sparkling in shades of blue, green, gold, and red as the sun shone on them. He looked at Gandalf, who was gazing at him intently, and impulsively reached out and slipped his tiny hand into the wizard’s.

“Thank you, Gandalf, for showing me how to play with my fish,” he said earnestly. “It’s wonderful.” He sighed happily as he continued to watch the bubbles. “I wish this day would never end.”

Gandalf placed a fatherly hand on Pippin’s head. “So do I, Peregrin, but unfortunately nothing stays the same, not even for us wizards.” He moved away to rejoin Bilbo and Frodo, who had shifted to the next table. Pippin stared after him, wondering why Gandalf had looked so sad for a moment.

_Grown-ups are strange_ , he thought, _and hard to understand._ He poked at a bubble and grinned as it exploded. Cousin Bilbo was a fine fellow to give him such an unusual toy—he would be the envy of all his cousins at Great Smials. _These are almost as good as fireworks after all!_

* * * * *

Regina

  



	2. Twilight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, the 22nd of September is coming up. We know what that means, right? Bilbo's and Frodo's birthdays! In honor of the event and in hobbit fashion, the members have written the following short but multi-faceted nuzgulings that had four options.

Timeframe: The evening of Bilbo’s birthday party in Chapter 1 of “The Fellowship of the Ring.”

Foreword: Two of the dwarves attending Bilbo’s party learn how hard it is to say no to a Took . . . especially a female one.

 

I walk over to the bench where Nardri is sitting and smoking contentedly. I sit down at the other end and draw my own pipe out; he offers me his pouch and a spill, and then extends the smoldering bowl of his pipe. I light my long pipe and inhale deeply. Whatever else can be said about hobbits, they do know how to grow excellent pipe-weed.

I lean against the tree behind me and settle in for a good smoke while I watch the guests at Master Baggins’ party dance. I am tired from cooking for so many, for it is not my usual work. I notice Nardri has taken off his boots and hat, so I decide to imitate him. Once my feet are bare, I feel the soft grass tickling my soles. It is an odd sensation, but a good one. The last flames of the sunset streak the air orange and a cool breeze rustles the leaves above my head.

“So, Vestri,” says Nardri between puffs, “what do you make of these hobbits?”

“I am not sure,” I admit. “They are friendly enough, particularly Master Baggins and his heir—they have worked very hard to welcome us. But they seem rather naïve in some ways, and not inclined to see the enemies that lay in wait outside the Shire.”

“You are quite right,” Nardri says. “But I do like them for all that. They are cheerful folk who enjoy life, and keep good tables. It is hard to stay grim when so much fine beer and meat is here.” He watches a group of hobbit children race by as they play happily with the toys we brought from Dale. “And the children bring much light as well. I wish we had this many babes in our halls.” I can hear the sadness in his voice.

I do not answer him, for my own lack of a child pains me. Instead, I resume watching the dancing hobbits. One couple catches my eye in particular; it is young Frodo Baggins and his partner. She is the prettiest hobbit lass I have seen here tonight, with fairer hair and skin than most. They make a handsome pair as he lifts her, her blue skirt swirling. The dance ends, and she wanders over to a small knot of giggling lasses who are standing near us. The breeze carries the sounds of their whispering to me, and I note they are pointing at us. I fight down my irritation and ignore them. But to my surprise, the pretty hobbit begins walking towards us, trailed by another hobbit in a gold gown who resembles her greatly.

The pretty one stops in front of us and drops us a curtsey. The gracefulness of her act is damaged by how she sways while standing—too much wine, without question. “My good dwarf masters, my name is Pearl Took, and this is my sister Pimpernel.” She motions to the hobbit behind her. “I’m a cousin of Bilbo and Frodo, and bid you welcome to our birthday feast.”

Nardri scrambles to his feet and gives her a clumsy bow. I follow suit quickly, speaking carefully in the Common Tongue. “We are honoured, Mistress Took, to be guests at such a great occasion. I am Vestri and this is Nardri, and we are of the toymakers’ guild in Dale. What may we do for you this evening?”

She holds out her small hands to me. “Will the two of you not dance with me and my sister?”

I look at her in disbelief. Nardri’s mouth falls open, and we trade a look. “You wish for us to dance, Mistress? Surely you jest—we dwarves do not dance,” I say in dismay.

“But you must,” she insists, “for all the guests are, even Gandalf.” I see the tall wizard treading a stately measure with a hobbit matron, and hear that the musicians are playing a far slower tune than before. I shake my head, a kind of panic coming over me. She turns to Nardri, her face imploring; she looks very appealing. “Please, sir, come dance with me. We want everyone to feel at home here in the Shire, and this is how we celebrate.”

Nardri hesitates, and then takes her hand, allowing her to pull him into the crowd of dancers while torches are lit around them. I watch as he carefully places his feet while trying not to step on her toes; it is a blessing that he already removed his boots. I am about to sit down again when I hear a slight cough at my side. I realize that the sister is still standing beside me.

“Forgive me, Mistress Took, but I truly would beg your pardon, and decline your kind invitation.” I take a good look at her in the twilight. She is not quite as pretty as her sister, but she seems less intimidating, her hazel-green eyes sparkling with mirth and her gown shining with the earth’s richness.

“But Pearl is right,” she says as she smiles at me. “Everyone is dancing, and we want you to as well. And please call me Pimmie.”

A sudden notion occurs to me. “Did your friends challenge the two of you to come and ask us?” I ask suspiciously.

She laughs softly. “They did, but that is not the only reason I ask. I truly wish to dance with you, Master Vestri, and with your long red beard. Come join me, for you have nothing to fear.” She takes my hand and gently tugs me after her.

I let her lead me into the dance. As the music plays, I stop worrying and lose myself, simply enjoying the beauty of it. When the dance demands that I must take her into my arms, I do it uncertainly and marvel at her fragile form, so unlike a dwarf woman’s. We move slowly, and I can smell the sweetness of her hair. I close my eyes and pretend fleetingly that I hold the most beautiful of Aule’s children in my arms, and that this evening will go on and on as I win her heart under the twinkling stars in the dusky sky.

When I open my eyes again, Mistress Pimmie smiles at me and I smile back in the flickering torchlight. I reflect that while the Shire is not home, it is home-like enough for me to be happy, at least for now, and I keep dancing.

********  
Regina


	3. Of Wood and Brass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, the 22nd of September is coming up. We know what that means, right? Bilbo's and Frodo's birthdays! In honor of the event and in hobbit fashion, the members have written the following short but multi-faceted nuzgulings that had four options.

As Pippin walked through the party gate Bilbo handed him a wrapped box, whispering in his ear, "That's from my grandfather Mungo; you're too young for it now, but I expect you'll want it one of these days." He winked and turned away. A moment later Pippin saw his cousins Doderic Brandybuck and Sancho Proudfoot standing by the food table. "Off with you, then," his father said, and Pippin ran off.

As he neared the table Sancho handed Pippin a pint of ale. "What'd you get?"

"Don't know yet," Pippin answered, taking a gulp. "You?" Sancho motioned to the shiny brass horn hanging on his belt. "Made by the Dales, whoever they are."

"Wherever, you mean. Don't you know anything?"

They turned around to see Frodo, a smile sweeping across his clearly exhausted face.

"Where is it?" Doderic asked.

"Far away. It's a dwarf-city."

"Dwarves?" Pippin asked. "Really?"

Frodo grinned. "Don't even know about Dale, the ignorant pipsqueaks..." he said to himself, rumpled Pippin's hair, grinned at the other two, and walked off.

Pippin opened up his own box excitedly. "A... pipe?" His face fell. "That's it?'

Compared to the shiny dwarf horn, the old oak pipe seemed a poor gift indeed, but Pippin did not know its full story. Pippin's pipe was a rich piece of hobbit history, but twelve-year-old halflings care little for such relics.

"It's a handsome pipe, Pip," Sancho admitted. "Tell you what, I'll trade you."

Pippin thought for a moment. Bilbo had given him the pipe, and he had said Pippin might want it someday. But Sancho had a dwarf-trumpet, shiny and new, and that was nothing to be sneezed at either. "Done," he said with a grin. The boys spat on the ground and shook hands -- making the deal final according to the customs of hobbit lads.

=-=-=

Later that night Pippin bumped into his cousin Merry. "I think this is yours," Merry said, handing him Bilbo's pipe. "You'll want to hold on to it."

"But -- "

"Don't worry, your word's still good," Merry said. "I promised to show Sancho how to get into Maggot's mushroom patch, and he gave up the pipe gladly."

Pippin smiled at his cousin, then looked down at the pipe he held in his hands. "I like the horn better. How many twelve-year-olds does Bilbo know that like pipes?"

"Ah, but you're not just any twelve-year-old," Merry replied. "You are a Took. And one day you'll be The Took. Don't you recognize it?" Pippin looked at him blankly. "I'll have to talk to your father," Merry lauhed. "You need to brush up on your family history if you're going to be Thain.

"Long ago -- years before even old Bilbo was born -- some orcs invaded the Shire. And your five times great uncle gathered an army to fight them back. Bandobras they called him, and with his brothers Sigismond and Ferumbras he led the hobbits to the Green Fields. They won, of course, but Sigismond fell. After the battle Bandobras picked up the scimitar that had killed his brother and said to himself, "I will give this blade better food than hobbit-necks." He walked over to an oak tree at that field and cut it down. An awkward instrument, to be sure, but Bandobras was determined.

"Most of the wood he used to build a monument to all those hobbits who had fallen there to protect the Shire, but one small piece he kept. You see, when they were boys Bandobras and Sigismond all went to the Midsummer Day's festivals together, like we do, and Sigismond was fascinated by a weed some farmers from the Southfarthing had started growing. Nicota, they called it, but we know it as pipe-weed. Back then hobbits didn't smoke it like we do now, but it was starting to catch on, and Sigismond was one of the first. Well, Bandobras took a piece of that oak wood back with him to Tookborough, and he fashioned it into a pipe. Over the years he continued to whittle at it, carving pictures of harvests and dances into the sides. Eventually he even had it fitted with that silver mouthpiece, though where he got it I don't know; probably from the elves."

"Wow," Pippin said. "That's a lot better than a dwarf-horn."

Merry nodded. "That pipe does not belong in the hands of a Proudfoot, but in the waistcoat of a Took. Better yet on the mantle of the Great Smials."


	4. The . . . Toy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, the 22nd of September is coming up. We know what that means, right? Bilbo's and Frodo's birthdays! In honor of the event and in hobbit fashion, the members have written the following short but multi-faceted nuzgulings that had four options.

Every morning when I open my shop, I see it. Rather queer, it is- the toy, I mean, if that’s what it is. More queer is its history, and the fact that I’m the only one in the whole length of The Shire who has the likes of it. And, like every queer thing in The Shire, I got it from Mr. Bilbo at a birthday party- the one that was pretty famous because of his... performance.

I was just a hobbit lad of twelve or so, but I remember the excitement well. It was a glorious day: food heaped upon the tables, drink flowed as freely as water in one of’em rivers, the music was as jolly as you’ll ever get, and all folk were happy and dancing and laughing. And in came myself, following my father, mother and all four of my brothers, and there was good old Mr. Bilbo, handing out gifts by the fence at the entrance to the field. My eyes had gone wild upon sight of the party and all the delights that awaited me there. I couldn’t wait to get my hands upon those delicious apple tarts, or the roast lamb, or the pork chops that were making Mr. Bracegirdle there lick his fingers. I almost walk right past Mr. Bilbo, when it happened.

I was surrounded by a big crowd trying to get in, and then I heard Bilbo’s voice saying: ‘Welcome to the party, Toby lad. Here’s for you!’ Then launched a golden-wrapped box at me, which I managed to catch before that rascal Proudfoot. I darted off with my newest treasure and hid behind the bushes to unwrap my gift. I tore those ribbons and crumpled all that pretty paper, and there it was. It was magnificent, shiny, bright-colored. It smelled of new paint and a whole lot of magical things. It was mine. It was... a brown triangle! A pyramid, rather. Anyway, it was new (not like those mathoms that others used to give away), it was mine. But, what was it? I reckoned it was a... toy. What else would anyone give to a twelve-year-old hobbit? Past by me came trampling all the hobbit lads my age, playing with their carts and dolls and wooden animals and wagons that moved by themselves, and all I got was a triangle.

Since that moment, I became cursed, that’s what happened. I didn’t notice the rest of the world. I missed out on those delicious apple tarts, and the wine that was being given out like rain. I didn’t get a single rib or steak. I didn’t see the fireworks. I was flabbergasted when they told me that Mr. Bilbo had gone missing. How did it happen, and why didn’t anybody tell me? I could’ve had my chance of asking him what that triangle was! I’d never known disappointment so bitter. Why had he given me such a silly toy, when everybody else got magical stuff? That was always my luck! That dotard Bilbo!

Many years passed, and I still kept my triangle, if only because nobody else had anything like it. One day, the Master of Buckland and the Thain came to my shop and suddenly stopped before the shelf next to the window.

‘Oh, look, Faramir!’ Thain Peregrin said. ‘One of them toys, from Dale, is it? I wonder how it got here. You’ve seen this, haven’t you Merry?’

‘I have, actually. Gimli made one just like it for Elfwine.’

I couldn’t help but overhear. They were speaking of my triangle! I took a step or two closer.

‘See here, Faramir,’ Master Meriadoc said. ‘Cover your ears!’

He pushed what had looked like a rock before, and now I realized was a magical button. Out of the triangle came a monstrous roar! Then, an orange flash, and then a dragon burst out of it, only to hide a moment later!

‘Oh, wonderful, Uncle Merry! Do it again!’

And again Master Meriadoc pushed the rock, and out burst the dragon. I must have clapped, capered, yelled, and then I sat on the floor and cried. All these years I’ve had that beauty, and never had I thought to use it, or figure out what it was...

‘Twas a nice, good lesson, you know, the one Mr. Bilbo gave me, and I only hope I learned it right.

Every morning, when I open my shop, I see it. Rather queer, it is- it’s a magical world the one we live in.

***  
-Starlight  



End file.
